


And The Violin Cried on Sunday

by gothicghost



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothicghost/pseuds/gothicghost





	

It was a Sunday morning, and Sherlock was writing music. The windows were open, so anyone within a close radius of 221b Baker Street could hear the consulting detective's beautiful work. It was a rather sad melody, and people wondered what that meant. Sherlock Holmes was known for being a cold-hearted genius. So why the depressing music? Of course, most of these people did not really  _know_ Sherlock. They've seen him in the press or they've approached him about a small case, but they didn't  _know_ him. Not like Detective Inspector Lestrade, or Mrs. Hudson. Not like Molly or Big Brother Mycroft. Definitely not like John did. 

John woke up to the sound of Sherlock's violin and assumed he was still upset by Irene Adler. He lifted himself out of bed and stumbled down stairs for a cup of coffee. He was going to sit and listen to what Sherlock had to say. The violin was a whole other language, John had figured out in the few years they've been living together. This was how Sherlock really expressed himself. It was the only way he was capable of really, truly doing so. His long, reptillian years had pushed the natural human ability from his face and into his fingers. And John was going to listen, except Sherlock stopped playing the exact moment John sat down in his chair. Sherlock jotted down something on his music sheet and placed his violin beside the fireplace. 

"Sherlock," John said in a concerned tone. Usually, Sherlock allowed him to hear. "Why was it so... sad?"

"Just wanted to play something different today, John," the detective responded. John nodded, deciding it was best not to ask. Maybe it was nothing but another of Sherlock's exercizes. John would never hear the melody again. Not until his wedding, which so happened to take place on a Sunday.

John recognized it while dancing with Mary. He only remembered it because it was the only one Sherlock didn't finish in front of him. That seemed so long ago.  _Because it was a long time ago._ Sherlock was reletively quiet for the rest of that day. John nearly forgot he was there. Now, Sherlock was playing it again. John thought that Sherlock would have forgotten it, seeing as the dark-haired man was known for deleting things from memory if he found it unimportant. So, the ex-army doctor deduced that this piece specifically must have been important. 

Twenty minutes after the dance, John could not find Sherlock. He scavenged the building and the gardens, but the detective was nowhere to be found. He found something else. It was the envelope that Sherlock placed that last song in. It was labeled 'For John and Mary Watson'. Except, Sherlock had no way of knowing that John would be getting married. Not back then. 

John gasped and dropped the envlope.Sherlock wasn't playing for Mary at all. It was for John. The violin was crying for John. Sherlock had said, "I love you." But he couldn't  _say it._ Especially not now. So the violin did it for him. 

 

 


End file.
